


I Call This Corner My Home

by drawl_all_vowels



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-06-15 18:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15418746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drawl_all_vowels/pseuds/drawl_all_vowels
Summary: Robert is a street prostitute with his eye on better things.  Aaron is a lowly drug runner just trying to stay alive.  When Aaron's life is in danger, Robert will do everything he can to help the boy he loves.  But is it enough?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Andersal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andersal/gifts).



> This story is the brainchild of a truly wonderful friend who agreed to let me have her idea. She's my brainstorm buddy, my giggle partner, and my eternal encourager when I question every sentence I write. I wouldn't even have wrote the first word without her. That being said, any and all mistakes and goof-ups are entirely my own, and I claim them gladly. 
> 
> To Alyson - you're a great friend, Lady! One half credit of this entire thing is solely yours, and I thank you much!
> 
> I'm drawlallvowels on tumblr.

 

Robert looks good tonight, and he knows it.

He’d spent hours earlier today searching through piles of clothing at the second hand shop until he’d found a decent pair of jeans and a thin top with all its buttons and no torn spots.  The jeans are faded and soft from many washes, including the intense rounds of scrubbing he’d subjected them to, and they clung to his body like a second skin. It’s a good look on him.

He bends over the side a posh car parked beside the curb and uses the side mirror to adjust the strands of his blond hair. He’ll need a haircut soon, but it can wait until he has a little cash in his pocket. Or maybe he can bargain with one of the street barbers for a free cut.  He’s good with his mouth.

One quick check to make sure his teeth are clean, then he backs off just enough to admire the smooth lines of the car and its shiny surface paint.  He’s going to own a car like this one day, all flash and red and low to the ground. He has no doubt.

He just has to work for it a little first. That’s the reason he’s standing outside in the nippy air while everyone else is moving indoors. And why he always keeps an eye on the foot traffic coming and going around him at all times.  He leans against the car and waits.

A gentleman in a creased blue suit exits the restaurant across the street from the pub and hesitates outside the door for a minute before walking in Robert’s direction. The bloke’s around 40, maybe, and has the look of money. He’s also alone and not too ugly. Flabby around the waist but with an expensive haircut and wristwatch. He’ll suit.

Robert stretches his torso a little over the roof of the car, letting his arse poke out behind him and glances over his shoulder at the blue suited bloke. He pours all his charm into a wide grin, the grin that his mum always said could dazzle the world. He doesn’t need to dazzle the world tonight. Just one potential customer.

“Amazing car, mate,” he says once the bloke’s close enough to hear him. He puts a little extra growl and soft leer behind the word _amazing_ just to see if he gets a reaction.

He does. And it’s a good one.

Blue Suit Bloke stumbles to a stop just a few feet away and clears his throat loudly before pulling his striped tie down from his neck in a hard tug. He watches as the bloke’s cheeks ruddy up as he rolls his hips, pushing himself off the car bum first.

His arse is one of his finest features, he knows. Might as well use it to advantage.

It’s also good to know he’s not wasting his time on this one.

“Yours?” he asks. Blue Suit Bloke doesn’t answer, but Robert definitely has his full attention.

Robert runs the fingers of one hand delicately over the car’s bonnet and the palm of his other hand down his torso, stopping just before he slips low enough to cup his package. Blue Suit Bloke’s plain brown eyes bounces back and forth wildly between his two hands and still he doesn’t say a word.

Yeah, this won’t do. It’s good that he’s getting admiration, but he needs to get this moving along. He hasn’t eaten today, he’s tired and he wants somewhere nice to sleep for the night. He’s just gotten kicked out of the last place he’s been “living”. Time to find other accommodations.

So, he tries again.

“Always wanted a car like this, me.” He pushes away from the slick surface of the auto and stretches enough so that the soft material of his shirt pulls out of his jeans and rides about an inch above his belt line. “The type of car sexy blokes drive."

 _Are you a sexy bloke?_ The question is implied. At least he hopes it is. He’s beginning to wonder if he should try someone else. He doesn’t have the patience tonight for a long pull.

"Uh, yeah…. yes! That’s mine. Umm, my car."

Finally.

"Thought it might be. You have that look about you.” He glances up through half lidded eyes suggestively and licks his bottom lip slowly. “Ya know, I’ve never sat inside of one of these before. Would be nice, I suppose. Sinking into those seats, feeling the leather curl around your thighs and back. _Ummmmm_ …."

Blue Suit Bloke moves the briefcase he had been holding at his side to cover his crotch and yanks hard at his tie again, then asks, "Would you like to look inside?"

Robert puts as much sex into the "Yes, please,” as he can and does an internal fist bump when Blue Suit Bloke groans softly.

He hears the click when the locks on the car disengages and quickly slides in the passenger’s side. Best to move quickly before any minds were changed.

A few seconds later his new friend is sitting beside him in the dark interior and leaning over the middle console into Robert’s space. He’s breathing a little heavily and his breath smells like stale garlic and tomatoes. Could be worse. It’s making Robert hungrier in a weird way.

“Does it live up to your expectations?"

Robert smiles and let his body relax back into the plush seats. He runs his hands along the soft leather as an excuse to brush his fingers teasingly against the blue sleeve resting close by his right thigh.

"Better than I ever could have imagined, mate.” Of course, he’s been in posh cars before, even ones nicer than this. But it’s always better to let them think that theirs is the best. That their anything is the best.

“So, are you going to take me for a _ride_ or what?” Robert’s words are normal but his voice is filthy. It’s a talent he’s spent time perfecting.

“Where…Where would you like to go?” Blue Suit Bloke is stuttering, and that’s good.

“Anywhere you want to take me.” He leans in close and inhales the tomato garlic air wafting from the slightly parted lips of his companion. If he’s imagining plates piled high with rich Italian pasta, that’s his business. It puts a hungry edge to his voice that he can use to his advantage. “And we can do anything you want to do once we get there.” His growls the words into the small space between their lips and smiles at the sharp intake of breath he causes, but blocks the incoming kiss with a firm hand against the pudgy chest.

“For a price."

Robert waits for what happens next. It’s usually some variation of the same. Shock, confusion, horror, sometimes excitement. If it ends with acceptance, it’s fine.

And this time it does. So that’s his night settled hopefully.

Blue Suit Bloke clears his throat and hesitates before asking, “So, what’s your name, then?"

He had decided long ago never to lie about that one thing. He knows _what_ he is, but it’s not _who_ he is, and he refuses to be ashamed.

"Name’s Robert."

He gets a nod, then a worried, “And how old are, Robert?”  So Blue Suit Bloke has something of a conscience. Good.

“Old enough.”   _Twenty-one._

He holds his breath for a second as Blue Suit thinks things over.  He gets a second nod.

“And….”   A rough throat clearing and an uncomfortable cough now.  Blue Suit’s either never done this before, or at least not enough times to be comfortable.  That’s alright. First time blokes are easier anyway.

“And?” he asks teasingly.  He could just lay out everything for Blue Suit and say _take it or leave it_ , but he wants to leave him with the feeling of being in control.

“And how much, then?   For your…. company.” The last word is strangled and raspy.  Uncomfortable but excited. Yeah, he’s a newbie.

Robert tilts his head further toward Blue Suit Bloke and whispers right against his lips, “Does it really matter? A man like you can afford anything he wants, yeah?”  His hand is still pressed against Blue Suit’s chest and he uses it now to lightly stroke downward. “Yeah?”

It’s a question, but also a subtle challenge.  Most customers like to appear powerful, large enough to take whatever they want, cost no obstacle.  Also, it’s better not to set a price right now. He’ll know better what to charge when he sees where Blue Suit takes him.  

He watches Blue Suit’s Adam’s apple bounce up and down with his swallow, and he receives his third nod of the night.  Good. Moving on.

A cheap little motel means that he won’t get much.  Won’t give much, either. A moderate hotel means more work for him but more cash in his pocket.  An upscale hotel means he can push his luck, maybe stay the night and walk away with his wallet happy and his stomach full.

Now if he can talk Blue Suit into bringing him home with him, that’s where the real cash flow is.  He’s managed this trick once or twice before, and it’s always a big payout. That usually means more than one night and convincing the bloke that he’s just a down on his luck lad with _feelings_.  A lad looking for a big man to save him and pour attention on him.  

If he can convince him, he’ll make bank.  At least until the wife/husband/lover comes home or the neighbors start to ask too many questions.  Posh men never keep him long. Just long enough.

Still, Robert always goes after the rich men, doesn’t he?  Cause he has _standards._

“I bet you have a beautiful home, yeah?”  He keeps his tone conversational with just a touch of longing admiration.  “You seem like the type with a gorgeous home and his life all together.” He sat up a little straight and widened his blueish green eyes.  “I bet you’re the boss at some big company. Blokes like you are always their own bosses. Always.”

He lowers his voice to a mumble to make to seem as though he were talking to himself.  As though every word wasn’t carefully thought out and rehearsed many times. “One day, that’s gonna be me.  I’m gonna be like you. Dress like you, drive a car like you, walk around gorgeous like you. Just like you.”

He travelled his slender fingers over the seams of the blue suit in front of him absently. It was a nice suit.  Well cut. Beautiful material. Cloth that felt like the wealthy. Robert may not own a suit like that or any suit at all, but he recognized quality.   _One day._

He catches himself before he can get caught up in his own daydream and looks up into Blue Suit’s eyes.  

_Oh._

He’s there. He’s already got him.  Those plain brown eyes in that round face are glazed over and _wanting_.  

From there it’s simple.  A few more carefully chosen compliments.  Several more minutes worth of touching and teasing. Then Robert’s set back buckling his seat belt and smiling as Blue Suit Bloke brags about the big house he’ll soon see.  

It’s not always this easy.  But he’s glad tonight is.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the support for Chapter 1. Y'all make me smile!  
> Psst! Aaron makes his first appearance in this chapter.

A few nights later and Robert is back again, standing in front of the same pub, scanning the same street for a new target. 

In all, he'd stayed with Blue Suit Bloke for two nights and one full day. On the second morning, Blue Suit had hemmed and hawed for a while before he shoved a large envelope full of money into his hands and shuffled him towards the door without really meeting Robert's eyes. That's when he knew it was time to leave and not try to bargain for more time. It was well over when the blokes no longer looked right at him. 

Blue Suit was kind about it, really, and some customers weren't. He got his money with no fuss and the bus stop was only a short walk away. All in all, it was a job well done. 

Before he left, Robert had used his regular lines of _Maybe we'll meet again_ and  _You know where to find me_.  Blue Suit had given a half smile and a _Maybe_  in return, but Robert wouldn't really be surprised to see him again. He had fun, and Robert knew it. 

So, new night, same job. Only this time his belly’s not empty and he isn't quite as desperate for funds. He'd made enough the last two nights to last him a bit if he had to. Things look pretty good right now. 

He likes the street he works on. He likes this pub. The neighborhood isn't too dangerous, at least it could be worse, and it caters to the rainbow crowd, which suits his needs just fine. 

It's easy for him to pick out the stragglers, the ones left behind at the end of the night. He prefers the single lonely businessmen, for pure monetary reasons, but he's not opposed to couples with money to spare and an itch to scratch. 

Occasionally, he's even pulled single lady customers. But those times are few and far between. Women with the right amount of money tend to think less with their anatomy and not spend much when they do. Robert's not cheap, and he’s a businessman before anything else. He's going to target the big sale. 

Still, blokes or ladies, it doesn't matter much to him. He's always gone both ways. He used to question it, but not anymore. It's just the way he is. 

A cold drizzle is making him shiver, so he steps away from the curb and leans against the side of the building. The awning and his thin leather jacket keep him dry and almost warm. 

Water slings against the concrete at his feet as a car pulls up too fast to the curb. He casts a cursory glance as two lads tumble out of the car and walk in his direction. He doesn't bother to step away from the wall, though. They are customers, but not his. 

"Think this one's for you," he says to the fit lad smoking a cigarette just a few feet away from him. The lad's sort of a mate, and he feels like giving him a heads up even though he probably doesn't need it. 

He gives Robert an abrupt head nod and a "Ta," his equivalent of a wide smile and a handshake. He blows the rest of the smoke from the corner of his mouth away from where Robert is standing and blunts the end of his cig against the wall behind him. 

All his movements are tight, precise, and a little bit rough. Robert is all charm and natural grace, but his mate is gruff and can be a closed book unless you know him well. 

Robert wants to know him well. Or at least more than he knows now. 

Whereas Robert is dressed to highlight his assets, his friend is covered from head to toe in a baggy black hoody and ragged black jeans. Doesn't matter, though. He doesn't sell the same type of pleasure Robert does. His type of pleasure is sold in little tiny pills and bags of white powder. 

He stands right where he is to make his sale, passing bags and pocketing his money so quickly Robert may have missed it if he hadn't been paying attention. Five minutes later, the car is gone and he's back to smoking against the side of the building like he hasn't moved at all. 

Robert traces the sharp lines of his mate's face with his eyes and is amazed. There's so much Robert doesn't know about him, but what he does know is fascinating. He's 18. He works the same street as Robert every day except Saturday. He's ruthless and rude to people who treat him like shit, but his pretty blue eyes are soft sometimes. Sometimes. 

His name is Aaron. And Robert is a little bit in love with him. 

"You never break a sweat, do you?" Robert makes sure Aaron can hear the teasing in his voice. He doesn't want to rile him up. He just wants some of his attention. He wants his eyes on him. 

Aaron focuses on Robert, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a tiny smirk. "Course not. Do you?" His voice is mellow, but it's got enough rasp to it that Robert can tell it'll be nice and deep in a few years. He hopes he gets a chance to hear it then. 

"Never." Robert winks at him and purses his lips into a sexy grin. He flirts with Aaron often but always on the light side of things. Half of him is scared of what Aaron would do if he ever shows his hand, and so he reins it in. That's his smart half. 

His other half, the half that thinks with his dick, wants to strip naked on the street and see if Aaron will take the bait. 

Aaron rolls his eyes away from Robert's face and scratches at one dark eyebrow with the short nibbled down fingernails of one hand. The other hand pulls the cig back to his mouth for a long pull before releasing the smoke, again in the opposite direction from where Robert is standing. 

"It's quiet tonight," Robert says. 

"Yep." 

And that's all Aaron says. It's not only the street that's quiet, then. 

It should irritate him, make him want to move away and find nicer conversation. But it doesn't. Aaron's good company in his own way. He's quiet, yes, but Robert finds his silence soothing. He likes the way his breathing changes when he inhales a particularly deep lungful of smoke and the puffed sigh of pleasure he makes as he exhales. He likes the way he can't quite stand still against the wall, the way his fingers jangle change in his pocket and his feet shuffle softly against the ground. He likes the way Aaron clears his throat ever so often and glances Robert's way, as if to check that he's still there. 

Being around Aaron is calming to him in a way he can't explain. He just knows he likes it. He likes him. 

The pub door bangs open forcefully to his right, disturbing the silence of the night. Several people tumble out onto the pavement, sloppy drunk and laughing. Robert takes stock of the group, looking for possibilities. Three blokes in slacks and matching polo shirts and one lady with a broken heel in her hand, all hanging off each other and stumbling to a stop right past where he stood. Looks like the end of a very rowdy office party. 

One guy is wearing a ridiculously pink paper crown that proclaims him the birthday boy. They're an entertaining bunch, all high-pitched giggles and inside jokes that made no sense to Robert. 

He watches them for a while, wondering what it would be like to have that kind of job. To walk into the same workplace every day and walk out again at a set time with a group of people who knows things about you. Who knows how you took your coffee and what your favorite lunch order is. Who took you out for birthday drinks every year to celebrate that they know you. 

Robert's birthday was a couple of months ago. He celebrated by giving a stranger an expensive blow job, then got fucked over the side of a rumpled hotel bed. He'd had better. But he'd had worse. 

The party goers walk up to the taxi waiting for them by the curb. Robert abruptly turns his face away from them and ignores them as they leave. Not one of them is worth his time or energy. 

Silence settles again after the taxi pulls off until, "So, you were gone two nights this time round." 

Aaron's voice was gruff in the dark and makes Robert's head spin a little. 

"You noticed, huh? Why? Did you miss me?" He's teasing, but a part of Robert really wishes it was true. That Aaron notices when Robert's not there and thinks about him enough to miss him. 

Aaron scoffs softly and rubs a hand through his short and curly dark hair. "No." But he quirks the side of his lips up in almost a smile and his eyes wrinkle around the corners. Robert pretends that means  _ yes _ and smiles at the side of Aaron's face. 

"You did, mate. Go on. You can admit it." He turns until he's leaning fully on one shoulder to face Aaron and continues his tease. 

Aaron turns toward Robert and mimics his stance. There's about three feet of distance between them, and Robert feels himself getting a little lightheaded. Being in the direct center of that blue gaze shrinks the space to a few inches. Or so it feels. 

Robert stands completely still as Aaron's eyes trace the features of his face before they travel slowly over the rest of his body. Robert feels himself responding, feels his dick shift a little in his jeans, and forgets to breathe. 

Aaron's eyes return to Robert's face and he smiles softly, almost sweetly. "Maybe." 

"Hmmm. What?" He's not sure what they're talking about anymore. Until he takes a moment to think and remembers.  _ Maybe. Maybe Aaron missed him. _

His grin is so wide it's almost painful. 

Then Aaron's smile is gone, and he's glancing over Robert's shoulder, face hard and body tense. He nods roughly at whoever he sees and pulls himself away from the wall to slouch menacingly at the edge of the street. 

Robert smells him before he sees him, a nauseating aroma of too much cologne mixed with cheap whiskey. He knows this guy and doesn't like him much. His name is MacFarlane, and he's Aaron's employer. 

Robert pulls back into the shadows and does his best to disappear, but he doesn't leave. 

"You got something for me, then?" MacFarlane walks into Aaron's space and just owns the air around him somehow. 

Aaron doesn't flinch, and he doesn't back down. But his hand trembles as he pulls a ragged envelope from his pocket and hands it over. 

MacFarlane takes a moment to flip through the contents, then "Where's the rest?" 

Aaron clenches his jaw so tightly Robert hears the pop. "Slow week. But I'll get it." 

MacFarlane jams his crooked finger into Aaron's chest hard enough to push him back a step. "Tomorrow." 

"Tomorrow," Aaron agrees hoarsely. He keeps body straight and rigid until MacFarlane is gone, then collapses back against the wall again, one hand absently rubbing the spot on his chest that MacFarlane had touched. 

Robert stays quiet and still, watching Aaron through the corner of his eye. After a few moments, Aaron cricks his neck from side to side and straightens his shoulders and spine. He looks as though he's pulling energy from the air around him somehow. Robert thinks he's beautiful. 

He shouldn't ask; he knows he shouldn't. It's not his business. But he does anyway. "Alright?" 

Aaron looks at him, raises his eyebrows in a way that makes it seem he's forgotten that Robert is there. Then he points a steady finger to someplace a little behind Robert and across the street.

"Looks like one of your type," he says. 

Robert hesitates a second then glances at the bloke Aaron is pointing out. And he's right. He is his usual type. Mid 40's to early 50's, suit coat slung casually cross his shoulders, walking toward an auto nice enough to have a hefty price tag. He's just glum enough and plain enough to possibly be a little lonely. He's a decent potential, perfect for a good pay off. 

Robert glances back over his shoulder at Aaron and waits for a second just in case he says something else. Anything else. 

He doesn't. 

Robert takes one last look at Aaron's face. Then he steps away from him and walks toward the suited man trying to open his car door with the wrong key. 

He doesn't see his street or Aaron again for another two days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, any and all comments are much loved and appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is very Robert heavy and lightly touches on his past.

The thing about Aaron is that Robert thinks about him all the time. 

He thinks about him when he wakes up naked and alone the next morning in a hotel bed and wonders what it would be like to see Aaron's body lying next to his instead of an empty space.

He thinks about him as he reaches across the dirty sheets to pick up the skimpy envelope left on the side table with his name scribbled on it in blue ink.  Then he wonders if Aaron would frown or laugh at the creative curses he spits out. Fucking bastard. He worked hard last night; his time was worth so much more.

He thinks about him as he stomps into the shower and lets the hot water flow over the scratched skin of his back and thighs.  Would Aaron leave marks where he'd been? Or would he be a gentle lover, leaving kisses where he touched? Robert likes to think the answer to both is yes. 

He thinks about him as he brushes last night's job out of his mouth, building the mound of paste on his toothbrush so high that it falls over with a loud plop into the sink.  Would he want to brush the taste of Aaron away if he had the chance? He doubts it.

He thinks about him while he orders enough room service to feed three people for a week and tells the waiter to put it on the room's still open tab.   He without a doubt knows that Aaron would appreciate that bit of genius. 

He thinks about him as he rambles through the city all day with no purpose, wasting time until he wanders back to his street corner a little too early.  There's nothing else to do anyway. 

He thinks about where Aaron might be when he doesn't turn up to his post at his usual time.  And he thinks about him as he lets several potential customers walk by without vying for their attention.  He tells himself it's because he doesn't like the looks of any of them and not because he's waiting for Aaron to show. 

He stands in his usual spot alone for hours in drizzling rain that comes and goes, hunched and miserable.  

The Christmas lights hanging along the outside of the pub haven’t come down since he started working this street.  By now, many of the bulbs are missing or broken, but the light strand still flickers and shines patterns of multicolor sparkles onto the pavement in weak patterns.  He feels about as festive as the lights look; still functional but fading. 

He stays there until the pub closes its doors and the traffic on the street slowly fades away.

.................

 

The thing about Robert is that he always has a backup plan.

No one, not even Robert, can pull in a great customer every night.  Some nights, like tonight, he simply has to admit defeat and walk off with no income. 

He never intended to work the streets.  Who ever does? He left home at 17, his head full of dreams, and a wallet his dad gave him for his sixteenth birthday that was  all but empty. He realized soon enough that it’s hard to find a decent job if you haven’t quite finished your A levels, your only experience is how to muck out a barn, and you’re without a permanent address.   

He took to eating in soup kitchens and staying in free night shelters when he could find an open spot.  When one wasn’t available, he hid between the dumpsters behind the local cop shop and hoped that the proximity to the law would keep him safe.  For the most part it did. 

Sometimes he wished he could to return to the little village he came from, but that wasn't an option.  

He somehow managed a full year of living from bed to bed, meal to meal.  He picked up pocket change here and there by running random errands for the night shelter staff.  His charming good looks and boyish freckles got him favors of extra food and free clothing that he wouldn’t have normally received, and he was thankful for it.   Sometimes he stole funds from purses left lying unattended on counters and under beds. He wasn’t proud of it, but he did what he had to do.

The first bloke who offered him a fiver for a few minutes of his time almost got sucker punched in the face.  But he was hungry and feeling desperate and soon found himself on his knees around the side of an abandoned warehouse with a sour dick in his mouth and dirty fingers buried in his hair.  They were halfway through the deed when he realized that the man wasn’t wearing a condom. He held back his disgust long enough for the bloke to finish and took his money, then he folded himself in half and lost the contents of his stomach all over his worn shoes and the cracked pavement.  

But Robert was a fast learner. He took himself to the free clinic as soon as it opened for a check-up and disease prevention resources, and the next job he took had stipulations:  all cocks must be washed thoroughly and covered with a rubber. And the bloke couldn’t touch his hair or he would be intimately introduced to the strength of Robert’s bite. The rules made him feel more in control, and his new business was born.

It didn’t take long for Robert to realize that he needed to charge his customers much more than a measly fiver in order to survive.  But better pay meant doing  _ more _ , and he didn’t like being intimately touched by someone whose smell made his stomach curl or whose fingers left dirty marks against his pale freckled skin.  The job was hard enough without debasing himself that low.

So he started looking for smarter dressed blokes, men who washed regularly and didn’t think twice about blowing 100 quid on a meal.  If a man was willing to spend that much on food, maybe he would be willing to spend half that much for a night with Robert. After all, he was young, blond, and attractive.  Some of the lonely rich men could likely to be tempted. 

One night, he parked himself outside of a busy pub just across the street from a posh restaurant and waited.  Soon enough, a suited up business man stepped out of the eatery and onto the street, followed by another and another.   Robert bid his time until a slightly drunk bloke with a bulbous nose, receding hairline, and an expensive car caught his eye. Robert made his move and the rest, as they say, is history.  

That street became his street, and that restaurant became his primary pick-up.  The only other company he usually has while he waits is Aaron, who showed up one night about a year ago and never went away. Their street is a generally clean one and isn’t known for “business”, and both he and Aaron blend right into the pub crowd, which makes it easy enough for them to skirt the cops.  It’s a good set-up. 

But some nights, like tonight, he finds himself without a customer or a nice room to stay in.  That’s when he goes home. 

He found his place the same night he gave his first paid blowjob.  The abandoned warehouse he had knelt beside to vomit had offered him a place to hide that night and many nights since.  After the the first time, he found himself staying there whenever the night shelters had no room and sometimes even if they did.   It felt private, shut away, and it was nice to have a place to be alone. 

The warehouse had been empty except for an old sofa someone had left a long time ago. It was torn, but not badly so, and most of the cushion filling was still inside. Robert had covered it with a sheet he stole from the shelter and, after a couple more back alley blowjobs, had used his hard earned pounds to buy a new pillow and a cheap blanket.  It was a luxury he could hardly afford then, but he never regretted the buy. 

Over time, he had gradually added to his place.  Now the sofa has a partially new cover-up and a easy chair companion in a color that doesn’t completely hurt his eyes.  A foldable bed on wheels stands in the corner with a faded quilt on top. He bought both the bed and the chair on the cheap at a jumble sale one summer and didn’t want to reminisce about the trouble he had getting them here. 

The warehouse is dry and has a working door and no broken windows.  There’s no electricity and no running water, of course, but Robert has a long hose stretched from an outside water tap in through a window and uses it for basic washing purposes.  A large battery powered torch provides him with light when he needs it.

A few months after discovering the place,  he bought a cheap padlock with a key and barred the door.  It’s far from homey, but it is his home. At least when he needs it to be.  He considers the warehouse his, and he uses it when he has nowhere else to go.  

Like tonight. 

The warehouse is only three blocks down from his and Aaron’s street, so he pulls his collar up around his neck and sets out for the walk home.  It’s misting rain again. It’s seems it’s always raining or just about to rain, but Robert doesn’t mind so much. He’ll be inside and warm soon enough. 

Once he reaches his door, he pulls his key out from the same threadbare wallet his dad gave him and unlocks the padlock.  He doesn’t know why he still carries a wallet, much less this one. He always keeps his money hidden away inside one of his sofa cushions, so he doesn't really need it. The key is the wallet’s lone occupant.   

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that his dad always carried a wallet in his back pocket and often told Robert that owning and using one was the mark of a gentleman.  He hopes that the wallet habit is the only trait he carries over from his dad, but probably not. His mum used to say that he’s like his dad in more ways than one. And that’s a thought he doesn’t want to linger on tonight any more than he has to.

Once inside, he flips on the torch sitting just inside the entrance before slamming the rusty door behind him with a bang.  He uses the same padlock to secure the door from the inside, then crosses to his sofa and plops down. There are cans of tinned food and a few warm bottles of beer lined up against one wall.  He could eat if he wants to. He should eat, but he really doesn’t have much of an appetite. 

He’s worried about  Aaron.

No, worry isn't  the right word. He’s curious about Aaron, about where he’s been tonight, and why he wasn’t in his usual spot by the pub.  

Aaron has never missed a night since he first showed up, not that Robert can remember. Of course, Robert is gone more nights than not, but when he arrives, Aaron is always there.  Always standing in his spot and ready with an “Alright?” to throw in Robert’s direction. Always with a perpetually lit cigarette and holding random conversations with Robert in between drug deals about things of no importance to anyone other than them.  

He’s not sure where Aaron goes when he’s not standing on their street.  He’d never asked, never figured that Aaron would answer if he did. He’s thought about it, of course, but he just doesn’t know.  Would love to find out, though.

He wonders if Aaron’s absence has anything to do with MacFarlane showing up on their street.  MacFarlane’s not an easy man to work for, and Aaron’s gotten into his fair share of scrapes because of it.  He manages to pull through pretty much unharmed each time he and MacFarlane have a row, but Robert worries that one of these days something will happen to change the status quo.  

It’s a scary thought.  Robert really doesn’t want anything to happen to Aaron.  

Robert has a little disposable phone in his pocket that he loads with minutes when he has the extra cash.  He’s seen Aaron use the same type of phone and wishes that they had exchanged numbers at some point. He should ask when he sees Aaron tomorrow night.  He hopes he sees Aaron tomorrow night. 

But there’s nothing that he can do about it now, so he shakes his head to clear it of the troubling thoughts, grabs a tinned meal from the cracked linoleum floor and reads the label.  Minced beef and tongue. Ok, not his favorite, but room service isn’t coming tonight, so it’ll do. 

He shoves the meat into his mouth by large forkfuls until it’s all gone and swallows it all down with deep gulps of beer to wash away the taste.  Then he throws his trash in the little bin that sits under one window, stretches out on his almost comfortable bed and stares at the shadows dancing across the ceiling.  Muted sounds of late night conversations outside his windows reach his ears, and he thinks that it must be nice to have someone to share the events of the day with.

After five minutes, ten minutes - he’s really not sure how long - he pushes off the bed to relieve himself in a bucket placed in the corner for that very purpose.  He covers the bucket with a sturdy lid, reminds himself to empty it and the trash in the morning, and flips off the torch he forgot to extinguish the last time he lay down.  

Once again, he stretches his full length out on the bed and closes his eyes to sleep.  Right before drifting off, he thinks of Aaron and decides to look for him if he doesn’t show up tomorrow.  

He’s the only mate Robert has, and it’s Robert’s job to take care of him. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all who continue to read! Your comments have been lovely and very appreciated. (Who are we kidding? I live for them!)

The chilly air nips at Robert's face as he walks down the pavement with his hands stuck in the pockets of his jeans for warmth. The days have been pretty and warm lately, but the nights are cool.  He probably should have worn another layer over his shirt, but he left it behind and doesn’t want turn back now. He's late enough as it is. 

He keeps his head up as he walks, spine straight and eyes ahead, dodging swiftly around sluggish foot traffic and anything else that gets in his way. He’s impatient tonight and doesn’t have time to wait for slow movers or drunkards who can’t find their feet at the end of their boots. He's on nobody timetable but his own, but he definitely has somewhere to be.  

The sweet smell of hot coffee and cinnamon wafts to him from the other side of the street and makes his stomach gurgle.  It’s not hunger he’s feeling but want. The smell is delicious and tempting. Robert’s never been very good at avoiding temptation, even if he is in a hurry.  

He changes his path quickly and darts across the street toward the smell, not stopping until he’s standing in front of a blue cafe door.   Some lady with a large handbag and a screaming toddler on her hip is blocking the way in. Robert sighs and tries to move past her, but he’s stopped by the kid’s flailing arms. He can't very well shove them both out of the way, but he thinks about it. He would never follow through, wouldn’t hurt a kid if you paid him, but that doesn’t stop his thoughts. 

He’s still not going to stand here like an idiot and wait to see if she moves.  He reaches around both mother and child, grabs the door handle and pulls it open gently instead of yanking like he wants to do.  He’s lacking in patience tonight, but he won’t act on his frustration. Not her fault, is it? By then again, she's blocking his way, so maybe it is. 

“After you,” he grits through his teeth.  Maybe the lady thought he was being kind. Who knows?  But she smiles at him and walks through the door, so whatever she thinks is irrelevant. All Robert knows is that he’s finally inside and can get that hot drink. 

He charms his way to the front of the line easily.  He doesn’t even put any thought process to it. He’s done this before, used his charm and manners so many times that it’s instinct.  A pat on the shoulder for the little elderly woman who happily gives up her spot. A wide smile for the muscled gym rat who’s tiny shorts are packing a lot of man.  A wink and a tease for the same lady he held the door open for outside and who is now looking at him as though he is Adonis come down. 

He plays people, he knows he does.  But they let them, so what harm does it do? 

He’s back out on the pavement in less than five minutes, a cup of steaming tea clutched in each hand. He holds them close against his chest in protection and glares at anyone who walks close enough to bump into him.  What’s the point of stopping for tea if he’s only going to spill before he has a chance to drink it? 

Yes, he’s cranky.  Yes, he knows it. It’s not the first time.  

He really shouldn't be in such a rush.  His corner by the pub is not moving from where it's always been.  He's only going to stand and watch, try to find an acceptable customer. Absolutely nothing new there.  

But tonight his focus isn’t on padding his wallet.  He doesn’t care if he pulls any customers at all. Robert focus is solely on finding Aaron.

His long legs eat up the space in front of him.  He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t turn left or right.  He may have walked into a few people, but no one got hurt. It's fine.

He continues his path straight ahead until he’s  _ there _ . The place he’s thought about since last night when he showed up and Aaron didn’t.  He’s back on his street, back on his corner. 

And so is Aaron. 

Robert’s sighs a little as the black mood that's been hovering over his head slowly dissipates. His muscles release their tension, and  he feels a little weak from the sudden loss of his stress. He had been worried about Aaron, but the strength of his relief surprises him.  When had he let Aaron matter so much? He’s not sure he likes it. He’s not sure he doesn’t. 

Aaron is leaning against the brick wall on the edge of the circle of light shining from the street lamp, half of his face and body in the shadows.  He's got one foot propped up on the wall behind him and a cigarette burning in his hand. He's not smoking, not really, just holding it motionless by his side as the smoke wafts in spirals around his bowed head. 

Something about Aaron's  stance seems a bit off tonight, something a little different that puzzles Robert.  But he throws the thought off quickly. Aaron's back. It's enough. 

Robert thinks Aaron looks just like a young James Dean. Except his hair is dark and curly, his face is trying hard to grow some sort of beard, and his clothes are less 1950s rebel and more streetwise chavvy.  Actually, he looks nothing like James Dean except for the sexy scowl, and the fact that Robert finds him intoxicatingly fit. Close enough. 

Robert strolls up to where Aaron is leaning and doesn't stop until he's standing much closer than he usually would.  “I brought you a gift,” he teases, singsong and lilting. 

Aaron lifts his eyes from the pavement and glances in Robert's direction without moving any other part of his body.  “Yeah?” His voice says he's unimpressed, but Robert knows better. He thinks. He wishes.

Robert holds one of the disposable cups out. “Cuppa?”  

Aaron looks at the label on the side of the styrofoam and huffs.  He clearly recognizes the cafe tag from just down the street. “Really went all out on that, did ya?”  

Robert isn’t offended.  Why would he be? Aaron’s tone is a bit distant, but his  huff holds traces of amusement and disdain, all wrapped up together in one beautiful sound. It's charming.  

Robert pulls the tea back out of reach.  “What? It's hot.” He takes a tiny sip out of the cup clearly marked  _ Aaron _ .  “It's good.”  He takes another tiny sip.  “But if you don't want it….”  He holds the cup back toward Aaron, gives it a little shake, tempts him with a smile. 

Aaron glances down at the cup but doesn't reach for it.  “You've drank from it now, haven't ya? You giving me used tea?” His voice is gruff, but not unkind.

“You have a problem with putting your mouth where mine has been?”  It's a joke, really it is. But even Robert can hear the edge of steel in the question, the  sharp bite that comes from nowhere. 

It doesn't matter what Aaron thinks of him, truly.   But sometimes Robert wishes he knew anyway. He hates that Aaron may think less of him because of how he supports himself.  

He shakes the idea from head. He's good at shaking things off that aren't important, and it's a useless thought to let linger.  He doesn't need anyone's acceptance, gave up on needing that a long time ago. It might be nice, though,to have someone to talk to.  Someone who doesn't pay him to say only the things they want to hear. 

No matter. He isn’t entirely sure what Aaron thinks of him now, so he may not have far to drop on his approval rating anyway.  

Aaron looks pensive, eyes scanning Robert's face.  Robert's not sure what Aaron is searching for, but it's making him uncomfortable.  He's not used to this much of Aaron's attention, but doesn't want turn away from it. Even if he doesn't know exactly what to do with it.  

Aaron slowly switches his cigarette to his far hand and reaches for Robert with his empty one.  Robert freezes, but Aaron's only grabbing for the tea Robert still holds out. He plucks the cup from Robert's hand, turns it deliberately, places his lips directly on the spot where Robert's mouth has been, and takes a long deep swallow. Robert sucks in a deep breath as Aaron lowers the cup from his mouth. 

Aaron licks the tea from his bottom lip with a quick flick of his tongue. “Sugar, no milk?”  Aaron asks. He takes another small sip, and his eyes drop from Robert's face to once again study the pavement beneath him.  Robert misses his eyes when they aren’t on him. 

“It's your regular, yeah?”  Robert asks. He knows it is. He pays attention to everything about Aaron. 

Aaron shrugs and twists his face into a  _ maybe it is, maybe it isn't  _ expression.  “And you know this, how?”  

Robert considers not answering, but his mouth had other ideas. “I pay attention.”   _ To you _ .  He cuts the last two words off abruptly and is glad that his tone is flirty and not as infatuated as he feels.  He likes Aaron a lot. But Aaron doesn’t need to know that, does he? 

Aaron rumbles out a, “Thanks, then,” and goes back to drinking his tea. He still holds his cig in one hand and hasn't bothered to move an inch away from the wall throughout their entire conversation.  

Yep.  Chavvy James Dean.  Sexy rebel without a cause.  

Sexy rebel who’s acting not quite like himself? Again, no matter.

Robert rests against the wall next to him and brings his own cup to his mouth. He  likes this, likes the quiet camaraderie they share. 

He lets his eyes go soft, unfocused, and slips easily into a daydream.  One where he and Aaron are two mates out for a night of fun, grabbing a cuppa on a crowded street before their adventures begin. For a little while he goes with it, likes this mental image where Aaron, anyone, chooses to be with him, seeks out his company. Enjoys spending time with him and doesn't expect anything in return.  It’s nice. 

Too nice.  Robert blinks the haze from his eyes and straightens his shoulders.  That's not his life. It's never been his life. But someday, maybe. He's a little afraid of hope. 

Not one word interrupts the quiet bubble that surrounds them in the midst of the noisy street.  Robert doesn't try to talk again, doesn’t disturb the silence, until his cup is empty and ready for the bin.

He glances over at Aaron and grins when he sees that he’s swinging what looks like an empty cup between two fingers.  “I take it you approve, then.”

“What?”  Aaron jerks and drops the cup, splashing a few drops onto the pavement with a plop.  So the cup wasn’t as empty as Robert thought it was, but it didn’t spill much. 

“Your tea, mate. Looks like you finished most of it, so it must have been good.”  When Aaron doesn't answer, he continues. “Told you I pay attention.” He wants to tease Aaron more, craves the banter that they sometimes trade back and forth. But Aaron’s face is a bit blank, and Robert can tell he’s not really with him.  

Aaron puts his cig back into his mouth and pulls.  He frowns when he realizes that it’s burned down to the tip and that he won’t  get anything else out of it. He stubs the tip against the wall behind him like he always does and flicks his fingers in a practiced move Robert's seen him do many times.  The little nub flies toward the street and hisses when it lands in a puddle. 

Robert watches him closely, enjoys the little habits that are simply Aaron. It's his little secret, and he hope Aaron never notices. 

Aaron bends to pick up his spilled cup and makes a strangled sound that catches Robert's full attention. He stops before he reaches the cup, grabs the far side of his body with one hand, and eases back to rest against the wall.  His face has turned a bit white, and his breathing has changed, rapid puffs that grow steadily faster with each move he makes.

Something’s wrong. 

“Aaron?”  Robert takes a step towards him cautiously. 

“It’s fine,” Aaron mutters.  “I’m fine.” He leans over and reaches for the cup again.  This time, his gasp is louder, and he doesn’t straighten his body right away.  When he does, it’s slow and looks painful. He hasn’t picked up the cup still, and it stays lying in a puddle of tea, dirty and a little crushed. 

“I...I don’t think you are alright, Aaron.”  Robert steps a little closer to him, right up to the edge of the shadows he stands in.  “Let me help you.” He can hear the plea in his voice, and it startles him a little. He doesn’t  _ plead _ with anyone.  Usually. 

Aaron leans back against the wall again, his body still and stiff, hand clutching his side.  “I said it’s fine, Robert!” His jaw is clenched, his face drawn, and his words come out a bit warbled.  “Leave it!”

Robert should back away and leave Aaron to it.  It’s not his business, really, what Aaron gets up to or what may be wrong with him. Aaron’s told him to back off, and he should. But he’s never been good at doing what he’s told. 

He takes another step closer, not sure what to do, but he wants to help. He absently reaches for the cup still lying at Aaron’s feet just for something to do.  As he does, he glances into the shadows that partially cover Aaron’s face. At this close distance, he can see what he couldn’t see before. 

Oh, fuck. 

One full side of Aaron’s face is covered in deep splotches of varying shades of purple and black. The bruises start at his hairline, cover his cheek and jaw, and stretch over the length of his neck.  Robert can’t see past the collar of his hoodie, but Aaron’s hand is still holding his side, so the bruises are probably there as well. 

Aaron’s eyelid is raw and swollen.  The part of his eye that should be white is bright red.  A bandage is taped over his eyebrow with a piece of rumpled tape.  It needs changing. Fresh blood seeps through the little square and smears red into the skin around it.  

Again- oh,  _ fuck _ .

Aaron looks at Robert with his one good eye and slumps further into the wall.  “It’s not as bad as it looks, Robert,” he says. He attempts a smile with the half of his mouth that’s not swollen. But his face is still pale, and the smile is clearly forced.  “So stop it.”

Robert’s not sure what Aaron wants him to stop doing, but whatever it is, he doesn’t think he can.  “It pretty bad, Aaron.” His voice shakes a bit, but it can’t be helped. “Who….?” He stops himself from finishing the question.  He knows. “MacFarlane?” 

“Who else?” Aaron shrugs one shoulder gently, lightly. “Well, not him. Someone who works for him.” 

Robert nods and swallows hard. He knows how this works. He’s seen it before.  “He came by the other night. Asked for his money….” 

“Yeah, I know,”  Aaron interrupts him.  “I was here, remember?”  The color is slowly returning to his face, and he doesn’t look like death anymore.  But he doesn’t look good, either. 

His hand drops from his side, and he pulls another cig from his pocket with jerky movements.  He glances at Robert as he lights up, but quickly looks away again. “Still didn’t have it when he asked again yesterday, did I?”  

If he didn’t have it yesterday, then….

“So, he’s going to keep doing this til you pay up?”  Robert feels sick to his stomach and swallows hard against the tea that’s trying to rise in his throat.  He mentally counts the quid stashed in his sofa, calculates what he needs and what he can spare. Does he have enough?  He has no idea since he doesn’t know how much Aaron owes. Or if Aaron would even take it off him. 

“I sorted it.”  

“You what?”  It wasn’t any of his business, and Aaron was going to get tired of him sticking his nose in.  But he didn’t have the cash yesterday, and today he’s paid MacFarlane off. With what, exactly?  

“It’s sorted. I said I sorted it.”  Aaron throws him a suspicious look and doesn’t say any more.  

Robert doesn’t blame him.  He knows he’s being nosey, far more than is usual, even for him. If Aaron said it’s sorted, then it’s sorted.  He’s a smart lad. He doesn’t need Robert’s worry or his help. He never has before. 

“Yeah, ok,”  he mutters. He steps back to his usual spot against the wall and moves his gaze away from Aaron’s face, away from Aaron in general.  After a moment, Aaron relaxes, and Robert no longer feels the force of his stare against his skin. That’s good. 

The restaurant door opens noisily across the street and two men exit, one behind the other.  They’re walking far enough apart that Robert can tell they’re not together. The first man’s suit is tatty, and the brand is a cheap one off the rack.  Robert can tell by looking. He dismisses him as a customer immediately and focuses on the last bloke to walk out. 

Black suit, possibly Armani.  Expensive haircut, nice but bland face, hangdog expression.  That’s the one. He looks like he would be an easy pull. 

The man staggers slightly, probably deep in his cups, and heads toward a Bentley parked by the curb.  Robert should do the world a favor and head over before the man climbs into the driver’s seat. He should take his keys, sweet talk him, drive him home, and make some money while he’s playing the hero by keeping him off the road. 

Apparently Aaron thinks so, too, because his eyes bounce back and forth between him and the bloke with a confused look.  By this time, Robert’s usually across the street and half in the car. 

“Not interested?” Aaron asks.  He takes one last puff from his cig, blunts it, and tosses it aside. He smokes too much, but who's Robert to say so?

Robert moves his eyes over the bruised part of Aaron’s face, sighs quietly, and shakes his head.  No, he’ll pass. If another bloke doesn’t come along, this will be his second night this week with no income, but he can manage.

Aaron looks like he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t.  He just gives an abrupt little nod, stares down at his feet and stays quiet.  He scuffs the tip of one shoe against the pavement back and forth, over and over.   _ Scuff. Scuff. Scuff _ . His hands are jammed into his pockets, and his slouch makes him look smaller than he actually is.He still stands at the edge of the light from the street lamp, a solitary figure half in shadows. 

It’s strange, really. Aaron is standing right beside him, and yet he looks alone. He hasn’t had any customers tonight, not as long as Robert has been here, at least.  That's not normal. He usually has a steady line coming and going. 

“Slow business?”  Roberts asks. It’s another nosey question, but ok.  In for a penny. 

Aaron sniffs and answers in a low voice without lifting his head.  “No business.” He stays quiet a few more seconds, then, “Paid off my debt, but didn't get any more goods for tonight.”   _ Scruff. Scruff. Scruff. _

A car alarm went off across the street and blared loud enough to  make Robert wince and Aaron jump. Armani Guy is wobbling beside his car and pointing his key fob at the driver’s door.  He presses one button after another and curses loudly when the door stays locked. He looks as though he’s going to trip on his own feet and fall at any minute.  

Aaron snorts out a small laugh. “Bit drunk, yeah?”  

“Some.”  Robert turns his body suddenly in Aaron direction, faces him head on.  “Why are you here, then?”

It was an odd change of subject, and the look Aaron gives him is not subtle.  He clearly thinks that Robert may have lost the plot. 

But he hasn’t, not really. Just a bit of his sense.  “You’re not selling anything. Why are you here, then?”  

Aaron sniffs again and doesn’t meet Robert’s eyes.  “Got nowhere else to be, do I?” His tone is guarded, his face wary. 

Again, Robert should leave it. Again, he doesn’t.  “You mean nowhere else you’d rather be? Or nowhere else to go?” 

Aaron clearly doesn’t like the question, and the look he throws Robert makes that plain.  “What’s it to you?” he asks, disapprovingly. Sternly. It’s a warning, one that Robert should take.  Should. But won't. 

Robert widens his eyes, ducks his head shyly,  and tries his best to look charming and innocent.  It's a look that usually gets results when he tries it on random blokes.  Aaron’s seen him pull this act before, and Robert knows he’ll see straight through the fake.  But still. 

“Just asking.”  He leans into Aaron’s air space and floods his voice with gullible sincerity.  “Can’t I ask a mate a question?” 

Aaron studies him for a long second, runs his eyes back and forth over Robert's heartfelt expression. Looking. Analyzing.  Then he shakes his head slightly and smiles bigger than Robert’s seen him do all night. “Muppet,” he says softly. He knows exactly what Robert is doing.

If Robert had a softer soul, he’d say his heart skipped a beat.  But he doesn’t, so it didn’t. Of course, it didn’t. 

“I have a place, you know,”  Robert says.

“Yeah?”  Aaron asks, his face a mask of confusion, and Robert can tell he’s not following. He can’t blame Aaron.  He's not sure exactly what he's saying or why he's saying it. He ignores the red  _ Warning _ ! screaming through his mind and continues. 

“If you need somewhere to stay, I have a place.” Robert looks straight at Aaron as he makes the offer.  He hopes Aaron can tell that his sincerity is real. Hopes he can see the difference between Robert’s fake charm and this. Hopes that he can't see the slight panic tightening Robert's body.  

Aaron pulls away from the wall and glares at Robert through his wince.  “I didn’t ask.” His tone is harsh and cutting. He faces Robert fully, not trying to hide his battered face at all any more.   He’s in fierce defense mode now, a bloodied warrior determined not to show weakness. 

“You didn’t have to,”  Robert says, soothing. No need for Aaron to get upset.  Robert's sweating enough for the both of them. “We’re mates, yeah?” 

At least Robert thinks they are.  Maybe they don’t share secrets and have friendly games nights.  Maybe Aaron has never seen the inside of where Robert lives, never even knew he has a place before tonight.  Maybe Robert is panicking a little at sharing that secret with anyone. But a year of standing side by side on a city street should count for something.  He hopes. 

Aaron’s expression slowly moves from angry to suspicious.  He crosses his arms over his body and studies Robert’s face again.  Robert tries to relax, tries to open his face up to Aaron. He’s not trying to convince him of anything now.  He doesn’t have to. He’s telling a very nervous truth. “I don’t want anything from you, Aaron. It’s just an offer.”

Aaron chews his lips in a familiar move, drops his arms and shoves his hands into his pockets.  He takes his time, obviously thinking things through, and Robert doesn’t push. After minutes of silence through which Robert barely breathes, Aaron nods.  “I could do with a place to crash,” he admits grudgingly. 

Robert can’t help it.  His grins, and the pull of it is so wide it feels as though his lips will split open any minute.  He also feels like he may throw up. 

Aaron shakes his head again and rolls his eye, but at least he’s smiling now.  “Well, go on, then!” he says, his gruff voice teasing and gentle. 

Robert gathers up his and Aaron’s cups and tosses them in the bin, then points down the street. “It’s this way,”  he says and turns to lead the way.

If he checks once or twice to make sure Aaron is following him as he walks, who can blame him?  Aaron’s coming home with him, and it feels unreal. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a direct continuation of chapter 4 and takes place as soon as Aaron and Robert reach the warehouse.

Robert shoves his key into the warehouse’s padlock and slowly clicks it open.  It’s a decent lock, sturdy and heavy. The tag proclaims it unbreakable, but he knows it for the lie it is. Nothing is ever truly unbreakable.  His only hope is that it will make it hard enough for intruders to break in that they’ll give up before they get inside. Not that he has much to steal, but it's his, isn't it?  He wants to keep it that way.

He had thought about buying one of those combination locks, the ones with innumerable code options. Good combinations are almost impossible to guess, and he’d never have to worry about losing his key.  But in the end, he had settled on a plain gray metal lock without any extra fuss or mechanisms.

He had chosen this lock for two reasons. First, he likes the classic look of the metal one.  For all of Robert’s pomp, he loves the solid plain feel of a good classic, whether it be a vintage car, an old black and white film, or a simple metal padlock.  

Secondly, Robert really wants a key to hold. Legally, the warehouse isn’t his, of course. But that key stays in his wallet wherever he goes, a symbol that he belongs somewhere, and that’s important to him. It’s a tiny little reminder that, for the moment at least, he has someplace to call home.  

A home that he is currently inviting someone else into for the very first time.  He shouldn’t be nervous, but he can’t help how he feels.

He’s got the same gut feeling now that he used to get as  a child when a stranger would visit the family farm. When someone new walked in, he would run and stand close to his mother’s side, tense and uncomfortable. He would relax when she ran her fingers run through his hair, but only marginally.  His mum never once teased him about his shyness, but his dad did.

Once he grew older,  he learned to conceal his reaction to strangers.  He stopped hiding behind his mum and instead learned to interact and entertain. But the feelings of acute discomfort never went completely away.  With every new visitor that appeared, he grew in the knowledge that the air around him didn’t belong to him alone. He understood that his own personal oxygen was also shared and breathed by everyone who passed through.  It's was awkward for him and felt a little like suffocation.

“Alright?”  Aaron asks behind him.

No, he isn't alright, but he can't say that to Aaron, can he?  Not after inviting him here. Not after inviting him to share his air.

Aaron is  probably wondering why Robert still hasn’t opened the door when it’s obvious that he’d unlocked it several minutes ago.  He wishes he has a good reason to give him for why he’s stuck staring at his door, something other than _You’re breathing all of my air, and I feel like I might suffocate._   

Robert clears his throat.  “Yeah, course.” His voice is a bit thick, but maybe Aaron won’t notice.  Or if he does, maybe he won’t care enough to think about why.

Aaron coughs  behind him, and Robert can hear the sounds of his shoes scuffing against the pavement.  He’d done that same _scuff_ earlier tonight standing out on their curb, and Robert’s beginning to think it’s a nervous habit he’d never noticed before.  He added that knowledge to his mental bank of _things I know about Aaron._

“Look,”  Aaron says.  “If you’ve changed your mind about me being here….” He drops off mid sentence, doesn’t finish what he was going to say.

Neither Robert nor Aaron speak for several minutes, and the silence hangs heavy between them.  By the time Robert forces himself to turn and face Aaron, he’s already gone. He’s walking rapidly toward the street, his figure growing smaller and smaller with each hurried step.  

“Wait, Aaron! No!” Robert shouts.  As unnerving as it is to open his door for Aaron, it was worse watching him leave. So much worse.  “I haven’t changed my mind, I just….” His digs through his cluttered thoughts and tries to find some reasonable excuse to give.  Anything believable will do. He just wants Aaron to stay. “Aaron!”

Aaron slowly comes to a stop.  After a pause, he turns to face Robert.  He’s standing at the edge of the street along a line of shadows, a wispy figure that looks as though it could fade away at any second.  Aaron’s been standing in a lot of shadows tonight.

When Aaron doesn’t say anything, Robert realizes that any conversation is up to him. “I want you to stay here.  With me.”

He squints and tries to see Aaron’s features through the darkness.  If Robert could just see his eyes, this would be a lot easier. “The door.  It sticks sometimes and can be hard to open.” He throws a teasing yet hesitant  grin in the direction of Aaron’s face. “If you hadn’t been so impatient, we’d be inside already.”

The shadows around Aaron’s body move, and Robert can hear the _scuff, scuff, scuff_ of his shoes against the pavement again.  “The door sticks, huh?” Aaron asks. It’s clear that he doesn’t believe the blatant lie Robert is spinning. No matter, as long as he comes back.  

“Yeah, course it does!”  Robert says with a cheerfulness he doesn’t feel.  The key to a good lie is all in the tone, not the words.  He knows this, and he knows how to use it. Aaron probably won’t buy it, but it’s still good practice.

Aaron clears his throat.  “Landlord won’t fix it?”

Robert’s grin is real and instant this time, his first true smile since he’d invited Aaron back to his place.  “Probably would, if I had one.”

Aaron sniffs and takes a step forward.  The shadows move in jumpy patterns around his feet.  “Homeowner, then, are ya?” he mocks.

Robert holds up the key he has yet to place back in his wallet.  “Got the key to prove it!” he says. “So, come on, then.”

He turns and grabs the rusty handle but doesn’t yank the door open immediately.  That would be too obvious. Instead, he makes a show of pulling against the weight of it and fixes his face into a forced strain.  

He hears Aaron scoff and realizes that while he had been putting fake energy into opening a completely unstuck door,  Aaron had walked back to his side.

“Heavy?”  Aaron asks.  

“Yep.  But I got it,”  Robert replies with a smile and a huff of  labored breathing.

Aaron’s sniffs and reaches past him.  Before Robert can object, he grabs the handle with one hand and swing it easily open.  

Shit.   

But never let it be said that Robert is a quitter.

“Strong arms you got there,” he tells Aaron sincerely.  He rubs the ball of his shoulder and rotates his arm in a circle as if working out soreness.  

Aaron raises his eyebrows.  “Suppose so. I can also open bags of crisps and fizzy drinks without breaking a sweat.”  

“Impressive!”  Roberts knows he should be embarrassed, but he isn’t.  Banter with Aaron is always fun, even if it’s at his expense.  

“Isn’t it?”  Aaron looks past Robert to the now open door. “So?” he asks.  

So Robert moves to the side and lets Aaron walk in ahead of him.

……..  

Having Aaron here, in his home, is making Robert slightly ill.   

He  feels a bit like he’s given a stranger entrance to his mind instead of just his warehouse. And even though Aaron is sitting down, it feels like he’s stalking around unchaperoned inside his head, peeking into dark corners that  hold secrets Robert would rather stay hidden.

Only that’s a ridiculous thought, and Robert knows it.  Even if Aaron were curious, Robert’s not clumsy enough to reveal anything he doesn’t want to.   He’s careful, and he knows how to hold his cards close to his chest. In fact, he’s very good at pretending that he doesn't have any secrets at all.  

And Aaron’s not a really stranger, is he?  He’s a mate that he’s known the better part of a year.  A mate that stands next to him on a street corner and sells mind altering favors while Robert sells his body.  A mate that he knows next to nothing about, other than his tea type, cigarette brand, and the fact that he’s just had the shit beaten out of his by his sketchy employer’s workman. A mate that is currently sitting on his couch, drinking warm beer, and jouncing his knee up and down in nervous rhythm.  

Aaron sees him looking, and suddenly his knee is still.  His whole body is still, and he’s looking at Robert with an expression that he can’t quite decipher.  Is it suspicion? Warning? Fear, even? All three? Robert can't tell, maybe in part because the of black and purple bruising covering half of his face.  But even without the discoloration, Aaron can be hard to read.

He doesn’t know what to do with Aaron now he’s got him here.  So he does what he’s always done best. He bluffs. Fakes confidence until confidence shows up.

“I guess I should have gotten us something to eat, yeah?” he asks with a grin. “I mean, I have stuff here, but there’s no gourmet around.”  

Aaron’s tense expression relaxes a bit.   “Robert, you don’t even have electricity. I’m not expecting fine cuisine.”   He tempers his words with an flicker of a smile, a barely there tilt of his lips.  That little smile loosens something in Robert’s chest, makes the air almost feel like his again.  It also loosens his feet from the spot where they’ve been glued since Aaron walked through his door.

Robert steps across the short distance between them and sits at the far end of the sofa, settling as far away from Aaron as he can get.  No, that’s not true. He could have easily sat in the threadbare chair next to the sofa, but that would feel too much like a concession of victory.  It’s an odd emotion, but it’s one he can’t shake off. He never sits in that chair, always sits on the sofa instead. To do otherwise would feel like giving up ownership to what is rightfully his.

He leans back and stretches his long body out until his legs are spread in a comfortable wide open position, purposefully making himself appear larger than he feels. He’s not sure why he does it. He’s not trying to intimidate Aaron, and Aaron is definitely not trying to intimidate him, but it makes him feel more in control.  More like he’s taking back his own space.

Aaron eyes the length of Robert’s spread legs and the arm that he’s stretched out across the back of the cushions.  Robert is most definitely taking up more than his fair share of the furniture. The small smile on Aaron’s face morphs into a glare almost too fast for Robert’s eyes to catch the change.  His body stiffens, and his jaw clenches tight enough for Robert to hear the faint grinding of his teeth.

Aaron's face is all scowl again, and he looks as though he’s about to do a runner. Robert doesn’t blame him, and he definitely understands the feeling.  He’s used to being this close to Aaron, does it all the time while standing together outside the pub. Why does it feel different now that they’re sitting in a closed in area?  It shouldn’t make any difference at all. But it does.

He suddenly feels too exposed in his spread out position and pulls his legs in close enough that his thighs are nearly pressed together.  He turns, leans against the arm of the sofa and pulls his arms close against his midriff. The gap between their bodies is now as wide as it can possibly be, but he subtly tries to move even farther away until the arm of the sofa digs into the small of his back. It’s not comfortable, but it's easier like this.  More room to breathe.

Then he starts talking, because that’s what Robert always does when he’s about to run out of air. He opens his mouth wide, jumps full into the fray, and takes control of the situation with his words.

“So no electricity or fine food here, that’s true, but I can definitely offer you something  amazing.” Robert doesn’t make any conscious decision to do so, but when he speaks, it’s with silky bedroom seduction. He uses his pulling voice, the tone he usually saves for when he’s on the make.

Aaron squints his eyes in Robert’s direction and rears his head back a touch.  There’s a question in his expression, but he doesn’t say anything. Just watches him with those blue eyes that see too much.

Robert smirks and lowers his voice to a throaty rasp with an undertone of sweaty sex. He’s only half aware of what he’s saying.  He's talking to fill the silence, not to make conversation. He needs that right now. “I have all sorts of amazing things that I can offer you.  Things to help you forget all about what you don’t have.”

Aaron’s eyes widen and his mouth drops open a little before he pulls it closed with a sharp snap. Robert has flirted with Aaron many times but never with any intent, never with this degree of focus.  Aaron's already squinted eyes shrink into little slivers of ice, and he raises his chin until he’s looking down his nose at Robert even though they’re both on the same level.

“Is that so?”  Aaron asks. It may sound like a question, but it’s really not.  His voice is loaded with dry mockery and sarcasm, and he’s looking at Robert as if he’s just lost his mind. He's looked at Robert like that many times before.  Sometimes Robert deserves it. Sometimes it's just the expression Aaron’s face settles into.

Today Robert definitely deserves it.

Maybe it shouldn’t, but Aaron’s incredulous reaction sparks a little _something_ in Robert that wasn’t there before. Something that makes him want to poke and prod harder at Aaron to see where it leads, see how far he can push him. That little spark of curious devilment has been his downfall more times than he cares to count.

He’s aware that he probably shouldn’t push Aaron too far, shouldn’t poke at the wild animal he sometimes thinks lives inside his friend.  He has no idea how Aaron will react to his blatant flirting. The voice inside his head that keeps him alive is yelling at him to back off, to be cautious.  He usually heeds the warning, but tonight he ignores it. He’s curious, and that curiosity is enough to make him push aside any common sense and continue talking with the same filthy voice.

“I can give you all sorts of wonderful things.”  He pauses and looks straight in Aaron's watchful eyes. He purrs softly in his throat and uses a tone that he normally only uses when he’s naked and spread open across stained bed sheets. “Things like…”  He enunciates each word slowly, caresses each syllable with his tongue. “....warm beer. Straight from the can.”

It’s not what Aaron  expects him to say, obviously, and Robert enjoys the flutter of confusion that flashes over Aaron’s face.  Robert wets his lips slowly with his tongue, watches as Aaron’s eyes track the movement, then continues with his tease.

“Delicious things like tinned meat, straight from the floor in that corner.”  He gestures lazily with one slender finger in the direction of the far wall where his “kitchen” is without taking his eyes away from Aaron’s face. “I’ll even let you pick the flavor. Whatever you want to put in your mouth, whatever you want to taste, it's yours.”  

He leans his head forward just a touch.  Not enough to shrink the distance between them, but enough to give the illusion of shifting closer. And he just keeps talking, keeps pushing. “Your choice, Aaron. Cold pork _meat_ or cold luncheon _meat_ .”  His words are nothing, silly even, but his tone is screaming _Fuck me_ . The slight emphasis he puts on the word _meat_ is just because he can.  He wants to pull a reaction.

A reaction he doesn’t get right away.  And when Aaron does finally respond, it’s not what he expected.  Not that Robert knows _what_  exactly he expected.   But it certainly wasn’t this.

Aaron stays silent and watches Robert intently.  He doesn’t move a muscle, but suddenly he looks more relaxed, less ready to run.  After several moments, he bends down and gently sets his half empty beer on the floor at his feet.  He slowly straightens and rubs both palms against the tops of his legs. Then he tilts his head in the same way Robert had done, giving all the appearance of closeness without any actual movement.  His lips purse slightly as if kissing the air, and his eyes gleam like blue diamonds.

“Mate,”  he says. His voice is husky, low in a way that turns the tables on Robert and makes him shiver. His clear eyes stare back into Robert's, questioning and challenging.  Something in his expression makes Robert twitch in his seat. It also makes his knob shift uncomfortably in his jeans and causes spit to gather in mouth. “Are you _at all_ aware that you’re talking about food?”  

It takes Robert a second, but he realizes eventually that although Aaron’s voice is serious, his eyes are laughing.  “Only it sounds as if you're well into it. So if gets you off, no judgement.” He shrugs indifferently and continues. “I can step outside and give you some time alone if you need to handle your….. _meat.”_

A short pause. A moment of stunned silence.  Then, “You what?” Robert asks.

Aaron doesn’t say anything else, just shrugs again like he hasn’t a care in the world.  His mouth twitches, a challenging little grin that whispers _Game On._

A light bulb turns on in Robert’s mind, and he realizes something.   Aaron is teasing him. He recognizes Robert's game, and instead of being overwhelmed or angry, he's dishing everything Robert has sent his way right back to him.  

Aaron is _playing_ with him.

It's not what he expected. It's so much better, and it shocks a laugh out of him.   Not the controlled husky laughter he uses to charm, but the kind of laughter that startles because it’s so surprising.  The kind that flutters through his stomach before it escapes from his mouth with no warning. It’s catches him off guard, because it comes from nowhere, his laughter. It's rusty with misuse and feels foreign in his throat, and yet it's so good.

And just like that, it’s easier to breathe. The air around him doesn’t belong solely to Robert anymore.  It’s shared between the two of them, and he finds he doesn’t mind quite so much at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who continue to read! You have my sincerest thanks! I love reading the comments you leave, each and every one. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long(ish) wait. I write slow, so I'm thankful for anyone still reading this!

Robert glances down at the lit phone in his hand.  The words on the tiny screen glow brightly, one lone point of light in the dimness of the hotel room.   _Text message from Aaron._ His thumb hovers over the words while he wavers back and forth between reading the text now or waiting till later when he’s alone.  

Now or later.  Satisfy his curiosity if what Aaron has to say to him or let the anticipation build.  Such a simple decision, but he's torn.

He glances around the dank room as his nose wrinkles in disgust. The air smells of mothballs and stale vomit, of unwashed bodies and the faint remnants of bleach. It smells as if someone had tried to clear away the evidence of the dirty humanity that regularly flows through the cheap room in wave after wave of depravity. It smells like the type of room he always hopes his customers won't choose. But some do.  He's still getting paid despite the state of the room, so he won't complain. Out loud anyway.

The flowered bedspread he’s stretched across is a mixture of threadbare material and questionable yellowish stains.  He supposes he should be more cautious, considering that he’s naked. The bed, as well as the carpet, is probably full of  all sorts of vermin, dead and alive. Nothing he hasn’t come across before in his line of work. He’ll live. But he doesn't have to like it.

His eyes go back to glowing words on the phone screen.   _Text message from Aaron._  His thumb hesitates once more above the screen.  He desperately wants to open it, but it seems wrong somehow to read the message now.  It would feel too much like bringing Aaron into the room with him. Too much like sharing a part of himself he would hate for Aaron to see. It doesn't make sense. He knows this.  But it's a strong feeling, and Robert has always lived by emotions and instinct. He's not going to stop now.

He places his phone face down on the end table beside the bed just as the peeling loo door bounces open with a bang.  A late middle aged man with a slight beer gut and a thick rug of greying hair from his collarbone to his balls exits the tiny water closet and heads toward Robert.  Robert doesn't mind a little chest hair. He appreciates it, in fact, since he never has been able to grow any substantial amount of his own. But this bloke looks as though he's wearing a fur rug.  Robert’s guess is the bloke lets the hair grow untamed on his body to make up for the lack of it on the very top of his greying head. Robert's tempted to believe that the man may be part grizzly. It would certainly explain the grunts and growls that had taken the place of any real conversation all night.

Fur Rug Bloke’s uncut penis is already plump and ready for another round, and he licks his lips as he climbs into the bed and leans over Robert.  The guy’s dick is not small, and he hadn’t used it gently. Robert is already sore and a bit raw, too raw to be fucked again really. Unless Fur Rug makes it really worth his while.  For money, Robert will endure almost anything. Even bottoming again for a hulk of a man who has the audacity to think that lube and a condom are unnecessary options. Or he _had_ thought that until Robert had set him straight with a painful twist to his hairy balls.

“Another round will cost you extra,” Robert says teasingly, flirting lightly. The flirting comes with the package but  probably isn't necessary. This guy hasn't looked at his face all night. Robert wraps a hand around Fur Rug Bloke’s dick and begins to pull in firm strokes, ignoring the disgust that builds in his throat. Something about this bloke just doesn't sit well with him. He'll make it through tonight, but he'll avoid him in the future if he turns up again.  

Fur Rug grunts, leans into Robert's fist and starts poking around Robert's arse with an eager hand. He jabs three fingers deep into Robert suddenly and without warning. Robert snaps his legs closed and shifts to the side before things can go any further or get any more painful. He grabs the lube and another condom from the end table and slaps it into his customer's sweaty hand.  

“Another round will cost you extra.”  He repeats firmly, teeth gritted together tightly.

“How much extra?”

Robert doesn't know why he bothered to ask, since it's obvious he's up for it.  Robert names a figure that's double the sum the bloke agreed to the first time around.  He's been eager all night and acts like he hasn’t gotten laid in a long time. Easy pickings.

Fur Rug lets out another grunt which Robert took as a price agreement.  Robert watches carefully to make sure the guy puts on the rubber and uses a liberal amount of lube. Then he rolls over  face down on the bed and holds onto the sheets as he tries to ignore the literal pain in his arse. He's never enjoy getting fucked. It feels too personal, too intimate, for something he does for money. Maybe if he's ever had a chance to try it just for pleasure he’d feel differently about it.  Maybe. No matter his bed preferences, he still gives customers regular access to his arse, but he won't do it face to face. Some things are just not up for compromise.

Robert clenches the sheets between white fingers and lets his mind drift as Fur Rug Bloke begins to saw back and forth in his tender hole. Some customers take a lot of work and want the full sensual experience, but not this guy.  He’s happy for Robert to just lay there and take it. So he does.

There’s a half empty whiskey bottle on the floor in the corner.  The cap is missing and dirt floats on the surface of the brown liquid.  Robert fixes his eyes on it and let's his thoughts drift where they may.

As usual these days, his mind goes straight to thoughts of Aaron.

\--------------

That first night Aaron had stayed at the warehouse with Robert had been awkward.  Two felt like a crowd even in the almost empty room. But they had danced around each other until uncomfortable had turned to manageable.  Together they had drank the remainder of Robert’s warm beer and ate some of the tinned meat, snickering slightly the whole time.

Then Robert had thrown Aaron the extra blanket from the end of his bed and told him he was welcome to the sofa.  Robert had crawled into bed and covered his body chin to toes with his own quilt. Instead of sleeping, he had lain motionless and had listened to the sounds of Aaron tossing and turning on the lumpy furniture.  He had closed his eyes tightly and focused on the mental picture of Aaron huddled under the very same blanket that had covered his own body just a few nights before.

He had listened to every sigh, every sneeze, every cough.   It was strange having someone else in his space. Having someone else’s breath fill up the room.  Hearing someone’s else’s slight snores after Aaron had finally drifted off. Strange. Yet comforting at the same time.

Robert had finally dozed off as the faint rays of morning crept through the dusty window and stretched their bright fingers across the floor.  When he had awaken much later, Aaron was gone and the air was still and empty. Robert had almost been tempted to believe he had dreamed the whole thing. But the rumpled blanket at the end of  sofa smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and hair gel that wasn’t his. Too many beer bottles for Robert to have drunk alone lay abandoned on the floor, and his bin was filled with empty tin cans.  There was also a new contact in his phone, a number he didn’t recognize with the single initial _A_ to identify it.  Aaron had left his mark.

That night, Robert had arrived at their corner to see Aaron and two of his usual customers doing business at the edge of the busy street.  His hoodie had been zipped up to his chin, the hood pulled forward enough to cover most of his face. The bruising that was visible through the gap of material had blended with his scowl to create an unwelcoming  visage. If Robert hadn’t already seen Aaron smile, he wouldn’t have thought it possible.

Robert had stood in his spot and stayed quiet while Aaron had taken care of his business. MacFarlane must have come through with more goods. Robert remembered hoping that Aaron was more careful this time around.  They hadn't spoken until hours later and Robert had been ready to leave with another suited customer in a nice auto. And then it was a simple and nervous line thrown over Robert’s shoulder as he walked away. _You’re welcome to stay again._  

That’s all he had said.  But Aaron had nodded. So Robert had thrown Aaron the extra key he had made earlier in the day.  It wasn’t Aaron’s key. That’s not why Robert had it made, not at all. But he had given it to Aaron all same and had ignored the thousand angry bees swarming in his stomach as he did so.

When Robert had showed up at his warehouse two nights later, Aaron had been wrapped up on Robert’s blanket and fast asleep on the sofa.  

That was five weeks ago, and Aaron had been there every time Robert came back since.

\---------

The first time Robert had unexpectedly come back to a warehouse that wasn't empty, Aaron had been drinking a bottle of beer. A bottle of _cold_ beer.

“Where did you get that?” Robert had asked. There was  no cold beer in his place. There was no cold anything. No electricity. No refrigerator. No cold beer.

Aaron had smirked around the bruised parts of his face and nodded toward the far wall. A little white Styrofoam box with a lid was sitting in what was once an empty spot. “Ice, innit?” He had taken a long swallow from the bottle he held in his hand and kept his eyes on Robert the whole time. Robert wasn’t sure, because he had never seen him make that face before, but it had looked as though Aaron was pleased with himself.  Robert had grinned, grabbed one of the bottles and settled himself in the easy chair to enjoy a drink with his mate.

The second time Robert had come home to a nonempty warehouse, Aaron had been sitting on the sofa with his phone in one hand and a half eaten burrito in the other.  He had looked up as Robert walked through the door and nodded to the second unopened burrito placed on the seat of the empty easy chair.

“Hungry?” he had asked.  Some of the lighter bruises on his neck had already begun to heal and change colors.  Robert had nodded and had made quick grab for the offered food. He had once again sat in the easy chair that had started to feel more comfortable by the day, and had enjoyed a quiet meal with his house guest.

The third time Robert had come home,  Aaron had tucked his body into the corner of the sofa, a cold beer in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other. A pizza box had occupied the seat of Robert’s chair and the white ice box had sat on the floor right beside it.  But what had caught Robert’s eye was the faded brown ottoman that Aaron’s feet had been propped on.

Aaron had seen him eyeing the ‘new’ piece of furniture.  “Found it out by the road.” His voice had been low and hesitant, his body still and quiet.  The cut above his eye has mostly healed and had left a faint red line that disappeared into his dark eyebrow. The redness in his eye had finally started to disappear.  He had looked rakish and reckless and so young.

Robert had studied him and the ottoman for a moment, thinking and looking.  Then he had shrugged with a calculated indifference and had said, “Fine by me.”  And surprisingly it had been fine. He had walked further into the room and grabbed the pizza box and an ice cold beer.  But Aaron had interrupted him before he could clear his chair and take a seat.

“Feel like a film?”  Aaron had asked gruffly and had held up his phone with one hand.  He had one corner of his lip tucked between his teeth and both eyes on the floor.  

Robert had hesitated, had cleared his throat before answering, had asked what film Aaron wanted to watch.  In the end, he had agreed, because everyone loves _Die Hard_.  So Robert had settled close to Aaron’s side without touching his body and had enjoyed dinner and a film with his roommate.

The fourth time Robert had come home, he had forgotten that he was supposed to be counting.

\------------------

Robert closes the ragged door behind him and walks away from the rundown hotel as quickly as he can considering the inflammation and pain rutting through his arse.  Nights like these, nights that he can’t shake the imprint of what he’s just done off easily, are when he hates his work the most. Hates what he has to do. Hates what he has become.

It’s late.  Well, very early morning.  The streets are quiet, and so  is he. He pulls his phone from the pocket of his jacket to check the time.  It’s only when he stares down at tiny screen that he remembers the text from Aaron.  This time his thumb doesn’t hesitate at all. He eagerly opens the message.

_I bought chinese, mate._

Four words.  Four words that stand as an invitation, an offering. Four words to let him know that he’s not going home to an empty room.  Four words that bring a smile to his face and make his night infinitely better. Four little words.

Robert quickly thumbs an answer back to Aaron.

  
_I’m on my way._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, your comments mean the world! So thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so here's what's what. My American self tried to keep as on target with the British slang as I could, but I can only do so much. I hope it comes across well, and nobody wants to hurl things at the screen as you read. Also, my spellcheck insisted that "kerb" was correctly spelled "curb". Blame my American computer, y'all. After awhile, I gave up and it is what it is. 
> 
> Also, thanks so much for reading! I've never done a true multi-chapter before, and I truly am enjoying crafting this out. I have several chapters ready to roll, and will release them on a schedule. 
> 
> Any and all comments are GREATLY appreciated!


End file.
